A Chronicle Of The Sun
by Silver Harmony
Summary: This is it, Kazuya thinks; this is the very reason why Sawamura always appears to be so full of sunlight. Miyuki Kazuya x Sawamura Eijun.


**Title:** _A Chronicle Of The Sun_  
**Author:** Harmony (Silver Harmony)  
**Characters/Pairing:** Miyuki x Sawamura  
**Rating:** PG  
**Word Count:** Approximately 6,319.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine – otherwise this pairing would be canon.  
**Feedback:** Very much appreciated, as I need it to improve. Thank you!  
**Notes:** I haven't read the untranslated chapters (because unfortunately my Japanese isn't all that great), so if anything is out of place because of that, I apologize; I'll fix it as soon as I know about it :)

…

All it takes is one bad game.

It's as if everything has been slowed and muffled, the surrounding air blanketed with an invisible covering of felted wool; Kazuya doesn't even register when he's brought himself to his feet, doesn't recall when he's pulled the catcher's mitt away, doesn't remember when he's reached up and slid the helmet from his head. It's as if all noise has slipped away from the world and he can see Sakurazawa gathering in his peripheral vision, their faces exploding with jubilance, mouths stretched open in victorious yells that are muted to him. Seidō is silent, _so silent_ and completely still, and there's no sound but the hazy resonance of Kazuya's helmet falling away from his fingertips and tumbling into the dust, almost as a relic forgotten.

He hears hardly anything, and sees hardly anything; all of his attention is caught by that hunched figure on the mound, partially obscured by the bright morning sunlight, completely motionless but for the mild tremor in the tender droop of his shoulders. He's almost like a saint on a pedestal there, on that slightly elevated mass of earth, soaked with pale rays of vivid brilliance.

Even in loss, Sawamura Eijun is as warm and bright as the sun. And Kazuya's chest tightens with a peculiar ache to see him there, such gentle humility in defeat and such an unearthly flickering of radiant light, like a candle's flame on the verge of dying out.

* * *

Kazuya notices how he is, for the most part, alone outside of baseball. And it's something that he's completely fine with.

He sees how girls call his name with adoring exuberance before, during and right after games, but will approach him infrequently otherwise. He perceives how classmates will give him brief gestures of support for his games, but will not generally strike a conversation with him at any other time.

Everyone seems to say he has a twisted personality, and in some perverse way, Kazuya has happily accepted that as part of his own being. He is full of abnormally quick ideas, near-feral grins and untamed cheer; so rationally sharp and painfully witty; and he can't help but be flattered when people are so clearly affected by his character that they feel the need to make scathing remarks on it.

_It's not a compliment!_ they tend to say when he thanks them, and he'll always give them one of his trademark shit-eating grins in response. His teammates often jokingly wonder aloud whether he actually has any friends, and that question doesn't particularly bother him, because he'll always have his baseball, and he's never _really_ alone, and he's true enough to himself that he wouldn't change his own quirks for anything in the world.

Kazuya is more than happy to crouch within the catcher's box, tucked low and away from clear fields of scrutiny, a foundation of support in the face of enemy lines. Catching is ingrained into his body and his heart – _his life's joy_ – and he dreams a young boy's dream of doing this forever, squatted small in the dark splash of the batter's shadow, doing everything in his power to make his ace pitchers shine.

* * *

He doesn't know when he'd started to naturally feel that Sawamura shines in a different way in his eyes, and it has nothing to do with skill or power or charisma. After all, that boy has all the room in the world to improve, just like any other athlete; and in the end, he's also a baseball idiot, loud and raucous and full of boundless energy and inexhaustible enthusiasm.

So Kazuya feels it again – that very faint stinging in his chest, barely noticeable at all, but present all the same – when he sees Sawamura standing outside the dorms in the late evening of that unfortunate game, slumped bonelessly against the wall by himself, his body folded inwards underneath the shadows of the cold roof.

'I seriously screwed up,' mumbles Sawamura, without turning to meet Kazuya's eyes; Kazuya notices how Sawamura's breathing is unsteady, how his voice lightly quivers, and how his face, normally glowing with liveliness, is barely visible at all beneath the evening dark.

And he answers, his voice low and uncharacteristically thoughtful: 'You played a bad game.' It's not a criticism or insult, and conversely it's not an attempt at reassurance, either; Kazuya simply says it like it is, just as brutally honest and as bluntly as he always does. Everyone knows that every player is bound to have an off-day – that doesn't need to be said. And Kazuya is never one to make excuses for his teammates' mistakes. The most important thing, he believes, is to learn from mistakes made – what has happened has happened; no anger or grief is necessary – and to keep moving on towards continuous improvement.

'No need to point out the obvious,' Sawamura bites out.

Scraps of memories of earlier that day flash momentarily behind Kazuya's eyes: Sawamura had been the final relief pitcher on the mound in what could be considered a very close game, and all it had taken was one slightly flawed opening pitch for him to slowly and progressively self-destruct from nerves and insecurity in all his pitches afterwards. Sawamura's always all heart and feelings and emotions, Kazuya knows; it's no wonder that he blames himself. It's no wonder that he honestly believes himself to be the primary cause for leading the teammates who trusted him to defeat.

It's getting dangerously close to becoming a repeat of the prior occurrence with the dead ball and the yips, and Kazuya isn't keen on seeing that vivid light come so near to flickering out again.

'Even then, you stayed and fought until the very end,' he murmurs under his breath. 'I've told you before how much I respect that. You haven't broken my trust. You haven't broken _anyone's_ trust.'

'You don't speak for everyone,' Sawamura replies sharply, his tone rising in pitch, and Kazuya can hear every color of pain in the timbre of his words. But then his voice unexpectedly falters, and he whispers: 'I'm a disappointment to them.'

_This is it_, Kazuya thinks; this is the very reason why Sawamura always appears to be so full of sunlight. His attachments run so deep that even his hurts will go to the very core of his being. His every waking moment is dedicated to his passions, and his every thought and action is rooted in the depths of his soul. Simply put, _Sawamura has a heart of gold_. But Kazuya knows that there's no real point conveying any of this to him at this moment, so he keeps his silence.

'I try,' Sawamura continues after a pause, breaking the temporary quiet. 'I'll always keep trying. But it seems like – and Furuya –'

'Stop comparing yourself to Furuya,' Kazuya immediately cuts across him, exasperated. 'You're as different to him as it gets.'

A fleeting hurt flashes across what little he can see of those gold eyes in the dark, and he suddenly understands, too late, that Sawamura's completely misinterpreted his words. Sawamura ducks his head, fingertips fiddling with the hem of his shirt; seeing this, Kazuya lets out a long sigh.

'Idiot. That's not what I meant.'

And calling his teammate an idiot in his current state is probably equivalent to digging an even deeper grave, Kazuya realizes, but his mouth is working unusually faster than his mind today – an occasional symptom of spending any length of time with Sawamura, who embodies that trait completely – and teasing his underclassmen in such a manner had always felt natural in the past. Either way, he briefly wonders if this is why people complain about him being emotionally stunted, if this is why people question if he has any real friends.

Sawamura momentarily presses his lips into a thin line, before he says tonelessly: 'Twisted as usual, senpai.'

Kazuya's mouth opens out of reflex and he very nearly gives his usual animated response of _thank you_, but he somehow, fortunately, manages to stop himself.

Just as he's musing over how unexpected it is that he's actually developed an impulse for it, and how twisted that really _does_ make him, Sawamura pushes himself off the wall and starts walking away without another word. Kazuya lets him go; his eyes follow the other boy's barely-lit shape and his stirring movement in the shadows until he completely disappears from sight.

That night, Kazuya dreams of stitched leather creaking between slim fingertips, quick gushes of cold air, and dust settling in the aftermath; the image of a silhouette is imprinted behind his eyes, its slender left arm extended, an enthrallingly unusual form half-concealed by a white-hot glow.

* * *

In just two days, Sawamura seems to be behaving normally again.

And with the return of his usual self, it's almost like the baseball club comes back to life after a lengthy sleep. He gives a very loud public apology, yelling at the top of his lungs and bowing repeatedly and zealously before the entire team; he lets only moments pass by before nearly everyone is snarling at him to shut up, making the practice session even more uproarious than before, but the temperate relief in all their faces is evident. Sawamura throws himself into his training with all the vigor of someone who's bottled up his excess energy for too long, and the resulting kicks to the behind that he gets from all his teammates makes it even clearer to Kazuya of how reassured they are to have him back, even if none of them will admit it.

'Miyuki-senpai! Please catch for me!' he bounds up to Kazuya boisterously after his run, brimming with pent-up spirit, gold eyes glittering in honest and heartfelt eagerness.

'I can't today,' answers Kazuya with a raised eyebrow, jerking his thumb backwards over his shoulder in Furuya's direction. 'I'm scheduled to practice with our resident monster for the entirety of the day. I'm pretty sure the net is free, though.'

He gets predictable fits of noisy whining and sulking in response, and he rolls his eyes at this, but still feels the muscles tugging upwards at the corners of his own mouth nonetheless.

Sawamura always exudes a consoling heat, unexpectedly warming Kazuya over from the inside out, and he _still_ finds himself being reminded of the sun, overwhelmingly bright and intensely raw and full of life. He spots Sawamura pitching determinedly into the net later and suddenly can't help but picture rays of light slipping right through the gaps between his own fingers, out of reach; but somehow, Kazuya tells himself, that's okay. He's the primary catcher and the foundation of support for this team, and as long as the sun continues to shine, there's nothing more that he should want.

Right?

* * *

He's filled with an unfamiliar stirring and edginess that makes him think he should take a break from Sawamura from a little while.

It's not guilt, especially not over their conversation from that night, right after the game; for as long as he can remember, Kazuya's lived his life in a manner that makes no room for regrets. But he believes that he may be getting unnecessarily distracted when he shouldn't be – the beams of pale radiance break into faint prisms of color, and they always catch his eye – and it's enough to spur him to put all his concentration into regathering his focus. So he responsibly arranges for Kariba and Ono to catch for Sawamura during upcoming practices; keeps all necessary conversations with Sawamura short and to the point; comes to practice right before it starts, and leaves right after it ends to dodge getting roped into the regular casual social assemblies; and stays mostly in the classroom and his dorm room outside of his baseball schedule to work on play strategies.

And he knows that it's long been coming – it's just who Sawamura is, driven by a desire to keep things uncomplicated for the sake of comprehension; but he comes to indirectly confront Kazuya a week later, plonking himself onto the seat next to him during lunch, and even though Kazuya's been expecting it, it doesn't seem to make answering him any simpler. Not that Kazuya's really worked out any answers at all to begin with.

'_Seeeeenpaaaaaiiiii_,' Sawamura whines immediately through a mouthful of rice. 'Aren't you ever gonna catch for me again? It's been more than a week since the game.'

'Not today. Nori went straight for me first thing this morning and asked,' he responds, allowing his own lips to curve just barely. Sawamura unpredictably returns the gesture, eyes glimmering, young and carefree in his smile; and there it is again, out of the blue. That prickling sensation, searing inside Kazuya's chest.

'That really sucks,' says Sawamura acceptingly, much to Kazuya's surprise; he'd almost been sure that Sawamura would kick up a fuss. 'We're actually pretty awesome together. Our battery needs to be back in action!'

Kazuya lets out a single indulgent snort, but it has no unpleasantness behind it. How typical that Sawamura can harbor feelings that are so complex, and yet he can express them in a fashion that is so simple. That, with his usual energetic enthusiasm, and his face lit with that smile, is more true to Sawamura than anything he can think of.

'But …' Sawamura suddenly continues, and somehow his voice is much lower in volume now; a look of mild uncertainty crosses the slant of his mouth. 'You're definitely not avoiding me, right?'

And for once in his life, quick-thinking Miyuki Kazuya can't find anything to say. There's no value in dishonesty here, he knows, but there's all the harm to come in being forthright, too. Besides which, he hasn't figured himself out in all of this to be able to explain anything properly. He simply lets his gaze drop, and he can see from his peripheral vision how the smile slowly slips away from Sawamura's face, and Kazuya doesn't realize how much he can miss that fragment of sunlight until it's already gone.

_It's like a balance of the universe_, he muses. Let the pitcher shine, and let the catcher support him from within the batter's shadow. A worthy catcher is meant to be impartial, especially when there's more than one pitcher to partner with in the team; there should be no singular attachment, no preferential treatment. He's getting too intoxicated on that dazzling, incandescent light – a luminous world of smoldering emotions, all-consuming fervor and tender devotion and everything in between. It's better to leave that unspoiled illumination exactly as it is, unceasing in its grandeur and out of range of direct contact: sixty feet and six inches of distance.

_Yeah_. He _has_ been avoiding Sawamura.

He gets up, pushing his seat back with a soft clatter, and playfully rolls his eyes. 'C'mon, don't try to think too hard,' he teases jokingly. 'You'll end up hurting yourself.'

The warmth of their proximity instantly slides away and cold air envelops him, chilling his skin, when he picks up his tray and proceeds to walk off. He expects to hear the usual indignant spluttering and his name being irritably called in full, but all he hears is silence.

* * *

Over the next few days, Kazuya keeps his distance and watches as Kariba and Ono dutifully catch Sawamura's pitches in turn without a word of complaint. That foreign restlessness is still shifting in the pit of his stomach, together with an added sliver of uncertainty; he's not entirely sure if he's gone too far, if he's crossed the threshold of _too much_. For now, however, Kazuya's significantly too aware of the quivering within the core of his own body, and that subtle burning inside his chest.

Sawamura's progress looks promising, the tense insecurity from that last game nearly gone from the lines of his arms and shoulders. Progress, development, growth: that's all that should matter.

Thrice Sawamura looks up and accidentally meets his eyes, and each time, Kazuya says nothing and lets his own gaze fall away.

* * *

'Excuse me, Captain?'

Out of all the people Kazuya can expect to actively seek him out right before his bedtime, he wouldn't have guessed it to be the younger Kominato brother, standing demurely behind him as he's getting a drink from the vending machine. It's already late on a fairly quiet night and he'd figured that most of the other dorm residents were already in bed, so seeing anyone at all still awake and approaching him personally is a mild surprise, let alone someone who seldom does so; he retrieves his can and straightens up, eyeing his underclassman good-naturedly.

'Yo,' he answers, opening the drink and taking a small sip. 'What's up?'

Kominato shifts uneasily where he's standing, from foot to foot. 'It's just – I –' and then an interesting look crosses his pale face; a flush rivalling the shade of his hair swells across his cheeks. Kazuya barely has any time to be amused by it before Kominato sucks in a breath and seems to be internally throwing caution to the wind, stating resolutely: 'Please talk to Eijun-kun, Miyuki-senpai.'

That takes Kazuya by surprise; he'd expected an actual baseball-related question, not this – although in hindsight, he probably should've seen this coming. He pauses mid-drink, pulling the can away from his mouth.

'Did he put you up to this?' he questions curiously, raising a playful eyebrow.

'No. I came to you on my own,' replies Kominato modestly, pale hair swaying across soft features as he shakes his head. 'But judging by your question, I'm guessing Eijun-kun is right to think that you've been avoiding him.'

_Well, shit_. Alright, he's caught red-handed in that one.

'I don't want to overstep my boundaries,' Kominato continues, his gaze and voice low and humble. 'It's just … I feel like Eijun-kun hasn't returned to normal since that game, despite how he's been behaving. He's a bit of an idiot, but I'm pretty aware that he's the kind of person who wouldn't want to worry anyone. The other day he mentioned in passing that the two of you had a talk right after the game and that it didn't go down very well. And everyone's noticed that you haven't been catching for him.'

Kazuya considers saying that the talk in question hadn't essentially triggered anything as much as the actual game preceding it had, and there are no hard feelings contributing to this current tension, anyway; but one look at Kominato's face and Kazuya feels like the other boy understands this already, so he stills his tongue. What's unsettling him now stems from somewhere much deeper, he knows: a comprehension built up from months and months of trusting partnership, from unconditional faith and belief in one another, from growing together, and a secret appreciation for that warm, bright light – all things that _shouldn't_ be considered as unsettling. He's aware of this, more than he wants to admit.

'Hey, c'mon. The way you say it, you make it sound like everything leads back to me,' he points out casually.

'Not entirely,' Kominato breathes. 'Everything leads back to baseball _and_ you. You're the reason he came to Seidō. As far as he's concerned, right now, where there's baseball, there's you.'

A part of Kazuya stops at that, mildly puzzled. Sure, they've formed a trusting battery and a meaningful partnership in the time they've known each other, but since when has he and baseball been nearly synonymous to Sawamura? Sawamura was the one who had come to Seidō with a huge dream and an even bigger mouth, gleefully proclaiming his intentions to become the ace. His youthful ego may have quelled a little since then, but Kazuya knows that Sawamura's dream remains the same: singularly-focused on his own development despite the partnership they'd entered into with each other.

Kazuya can't help but feel like he's missing a piece of information somewhere.

'Miyuki-senpai.'

The quiet voice, compassionate and soft, slides across his thoughts, interrupting them. He looks back up, and Kominato is eyeing him with sincere patience.

'It feels like how I'd imagine it would feel if the sun was only shining half as bright, every day,' he murmurs under his breath. 'I hope you won't wait too long.'

Kominato bows low and polite, turns, and is quickly gone. Kazuya's left only to stare after him in his wake.

* * *

And he'll never understand exactly how fate really works, because when he walks out to the field nearly half an hour later, Sawamura is there, rolling his tire out by hand to get ready to have a run; the late evening is cloudy, and there are barely any stars visible to light the surroundings, but Kazuya can still glimpse him from afar. Even if the night had been completely black, Kazuya is sure that he would still have seen him. Sawamura's presence has always been like a beacon, drawing all eyes to him, gleaming as luminously vibrant as the sun.

He knows that he's been spotted even though Sawamura never turns to look in his direction, because by the time he gets close, the other boy's chosen to abandon the tire entirely, letting the rope fall to the ground.

'Do you know why I came to Seidō?' slips out softly from Sawamura's mouth.

He's still not looking at Kazuya, so he probably can't see it, but Kazuya flashes a lopsided smirk anyway.

'I think you may have told me this story before,' he grins. 'But I just saw Kominato a little while ago. He said it was because of me.'

'Yeah, it was,' Sawamura confirms, dipping his head; lean pitcher's fingertips absent-mindedly pick at a loose thread on the hem of his sleeve. 'I didn't want to accept the offer, but then you caught my pitch. I've never forgotten that sound. I can still hear it now.'

His eyes close very briefly, as if to recall it, and something tugs deep in Kazuya's gut to see it. How intriguing and unexpected, that such a small thing that happened so long ago has been kept by Sawamura as such a closely-guarded memory. In the fleeting silence, Kazuya thinks he can hear it again, too: that strikingly quick gush of air, that resounding smack of the ball, firm inside his mitt.

Sawamura turns to look at him at last, keen gold eyes fixed upon his, and Kazuya's breath catches a little.

'Why have you been avoiding me?' he murmurs.

This isn't a question that Kazuya's ready to answer, and it's not for a lack of answers. It's an answer that leaves him open and vulnerable when he's usually considered strong in his presence; it's an answer that's hard to put into words even when he's usually witty and sharp. There's no strength or wit or sharpness required here, he knows, not when Sawamura's asking only for honesty, stripped bare. He recalls a smattering of random voices saying _you have such a twisted personality – you're emotionally impaired_, words he's heard a thousand times before. And for once, his reflex doesn't immediately kick in to show gratitude, even mentally.

'… Look. It's not that I –'

'Don't do that,' snaps Sawamura, clearly losing his patience. 'I played a bad game, and suddenly you start dodging me at every opportunity. What was I supposed to think? Don't give me some excuse. Please don't screw with me.'

_For heaven's sake, I wasn't trying to, _thinks Kazuya, starting to feel his own frustration surfacing; but another part of him is well-aware of his own personality. He knows that things often don't come out of his mouth in the same way as other people. And now that he's considering it, maybe the first part of what he'd tried to say did sound a little like he was trying to make an excuse.

Sawamura bites his lip and curls his hand into tight fists, looking for all the world like his temper's only hanging by a thread. 'You don't get it, do you.'

Kazuya lets out a loud, long sigh. 'Get what, Sawamura?'

'That you're just like the sun.'

And everything suddenly stops around him, like all noise has been muted, like the world's ceased spinning. His heart's maybe stopped beating, frozen in place. He stares soundlessly at Sawamura, his mouth dry; but Sawamura just stares back at him point blank without a single trace of trepidation.

'Call me cheesy, corny, whatever you like,' he continues, and there's a tremor in his voice now, like he's fighting furiously against a rise of emotions. 'But I look at you and I see the sun. You're so bright that sometimes you're all I'm pulled to see when I'm pitching. Bright, and out of reach … I've been chasing you since I got here, but somehow, I'm always steps behind.'

Kazuya eyes him in curious wonder; in a lighter atmosphere, he would've laughed, full of mirth. How does a sun see someone crouching in the shadows as another sun?

'It's absurd how brilliant you actually are, because you're such a prick,' Sawamura carries on, raving without shame. 'It gives me stomachaches just thinking about it. But you called me your partner when you first met me, and when I think back to that moment now, my heart still skips a beat, you know? Also, yeah, I know how people see me – as a loud and overactive baseball idiot who embarrasses himself, and can sometimes be incompetent at the worst times. And maybe I _am_ exactly what they say; but you've played as my partner since I met you, even despite that. You didn't stop believing in me. I'm not sure you really understand exactly what that means to me.'

And this, Kazuya realizes, is it. This is the piece that he's been missing, its lack of presence noted during his conversation with Kominato. And he knows how he's managed to miss it, having been too absorbed in what his own eyes saw to be able to see what Sawamura's eyes saw; but that doesn't matter at all now.

He takes a step towards Sawamura, who instantly tenses in surprise; but he tenderly wraps an arm right around the other boy's shoulders and draws him close, and it takes a few moments before Sawamura relaxes against him, fingertips brushing hesitantly against the slight curve of Kazuya's hips. Kazuya's slung a casual arm over Sawamura's shoulders many times in the past, carefree and teasing; but it's not quite like that now. And judging from the way Sawamura's breath hitches, he knows it, too.

'You're totally ridiculous, you know that,' Kazuya murmurs into his hair; Sawamura's unexpectedly gentle against him, a deceptive softness that contradicts his usual boisterous manner, a comforting fit that belies the awkward long limbs and bony joints of his teenage growth. 'You make all this talk about me being like the sun, and you haven't even seen yourself.'

Sawamura's light breathing, uneven, is hot against the shell of his ear. 'You're an idiot,' he snaps; however, there's no real bite in it, and Kazuya can't help but smile. 'What the hell are you talking about when I was the one who messed up a whole game for everyone? But that doesn't matter, anyway. I talked to you. I got through it.'

Kazuya pauses, blinking; he withdraws slightly, unwrapping his arm and sliding it back to grasp at Sawamura's shoulder instead, looking him in the eye. 'I thought I'd made it worse for you with that conversation.'

'I'd just played a bad game. I was really upset,' admits Sawamura reluctantly, looking somewhat grumpy and petulant, a light flush spreading across his features. 'I wasn't thinking straight. Anyway, it's not like you actually said anything of use! And your personality still sucks.'

The unspoken words are loud enough for Kazuya to hear, and he rolls his eyes; for him to have simply been there at the time, brimming with implicit trust for Sawamura – a trust that's always been completely and unconditionally returned – was all that Sawamura had needed. And he's fairly sure, after everything, that Sawamura would unreservedly do the same for him.

'You'd have all the qualities of a fine ace if you didn't have that big mouth.'

'And you'd have all the qualities of a decent person if you had a personality transplant,' Sawamura shoots back crossly, without missing a beat.

Kazuya gives a small chuckle in response, and Sawamura gives him a light thump in the ribs, looking thoroughly unimpressed. But then he stays his touch, not at all withdrawing; he slowly curves his fingers and lays the back of his knuckles against Kazuya's chest, and the weight and warmth of the contact is almost like a consolation there, a mild and comforting solace.

'It's the truth, what I said before,' he utters quietly. 'I've been running after you since I first enrolled at this school. I wanted to be your equal.'

'Moron. You were never behind me,' murmurs Kazuya, his tight grip on Sawamura's shoulder softening. 'Tell me what else you want. I want to hear you say it.'

The other boy pauses momentarily.

'… I want to keep playing baseball. I want to get better. I want to keep pitching, and I want you to catch my pitches,' Sawamura's face colors a little more, 'for as long as possible. I … want to keep on being your partner. I want to be totally worthy of you in every way. I want to stand together with you. I want –' his breath catches in his throat, and a sliver of vulnerability slides across his eyes. 'I want you.'

And there it is once again, that sensation in Kazuya's chest, his heart constricting. He knows exactly what it is, and in no way is it petty preferential treatment, like he'd once surmised. But either way, there's no need to put a name to it at all; especially not when it's clearly apparent that they both know.

Kazuya leans in, his other hand reaching up to curl around the one that Sawamura's laid against him, and presses his lips gently to the corner of Sawamura's mouth. It's feather-light, and it can barely be called a kiss at all, but it holds the weight of everything between them, and carries the promise of more to come. Sawamura breathes, and looks up at Kazuya unusually demurely through soft eyelashes; Kazuya may have never felt warmer than in the wake of that gaze. It's a somewhat unfamiliar sensation, but he knows he'll get used to it. And now, there's nothing that he wants more.

Sawamura lets out a slow sigh and takes a step back, extracting himself completely; the cool night air swirls across Kazuya's skin, and he already misses the tender warmth and the shared body heat, mingling faintly between them.

'I'll be a responsible kouhai and walk you back to your room,' Sawamura declares firmly, and Kazuya's never been more relieved to see the trademark lively energy truly coming back. 'And on the way there, _you're_ going to tell me everything that _you_ want. Because you're a dumb jerk who dodges his feelings, and you owe me all of it.'

Kazuya laughs lightly and reaches out for Sawamura's hand, lacing their fingers together. 'I can do that. Will there be a Stage Two: Proper Kiss for me at the end of it?' he teases, tapping the forefinger of his free hand to the center of his mouth.

Sawamura narrows his eyes incredulously and gives a little disbelieving shake of his head, never breaking their gaze. 'What a scummy personality. But I guess you wouldn't be you without it,' he exhales, and peers at Kazuya through half-lidded eyes. 'Yeah. Yeah, there will be.'

Kazuya's answering grin is far too wide and self-satisfied for his own good; they don't even manage to get halfway across the field before Sawamura jostles him in annoyance.

When the team arrives for practice the next morning, the two of them are already there, content together under the soft rising sun, cheerfully playing catch.

* * *

It's only a few weeks later when the Seidō baseball club finds themselves back on the field with keen competitiveness searing through their skin and bones, surrounded on all sides by cheerful clamoring in the stands, the crisp smell of earth, the rich timbre of brass band instruments and the vibrant daylight warming their backs. Kazuya stands calmly on the edge of the field with the rest of the team, all of whom are conversing amongst themselves or doing light stretches, as they're casually waiting for the starting time; he takes his place right at the very rear of the group, and coincidentally spots Mei's challenging smirk in the sea of white uniforms a fair distance away. He graciously returns the gesture.

'Hey, you ready?' asks an eager voice from right by his side. There's a light tugging on his sleeve; Kazuya turns, grinning.

'Damn straight,' he replies evenly, pleasure in his voice, and Sawamura beams at him. 'Are you?'

''Course I am,' declares Sawamura loudly, pumping a fist. 'I'm definitely gonna make it up to the team after last time. I'm never gonna disappoint anyone again. I'm not gonna lose to anyone. I'm not gonna lose to myself!'

_How typical_, Kazuya thinks, as Sawamura launches into a noisy stream of self-motivating war cries; it'll be the first game since that loss against Sakurazawa, and this silly boy is thrilled and motivated rather than tense. He's so animated in his yells that his face goes pink, and even though a smattering of teammates are adding to the rowdiness by turning around occasionally to shout at him to shut up, Kazuya feels only ease. As usual, Sawamura doesn't let that get him down, either – his countenance is livelier and brighter than ever, and the sunlight glimmers in the deep brown of his hair. A faint breeze swirls across the line of Kazuya's mouth, and he takes in a deep breath; even after the countless games he's played over the years, all of this feels incredible.

'Oh yeah – before I forget!'

Before Kazuya can react, Sawamura grasps his hand, taking him by surprise; the steady hold is tight and secure, and without any shy hesitancy, the younger boy presses his lips firmly to the back of Kazuya's fingers. Kazuya blinks for a moment, pausing to mentally absorb exactly what's just happened; and then he can't help but to laugh out loud. He laughs so hard that tears start beading at the corners of his eyes.

'What the hell was that?!'

'I – you –' Sawamura huffs indignantly, his face coloring even more. 'It was for luck! So your hand can catch my throws!'

'You're pretty cocky, aren't you,' Kazuya gasps breathlessly, tucking his fingers underneath his goggles to wipe at the edges of his eyes. 'I've been catching your pitches all this time anyway, right? And you should be kissing my mitt, in that case.'

Sawamura grumbles something irritably under his breath and lets go, but Kazuya reaches out serenely, catching hold of his hand again. And just the way he wants it, Sawamura stops suddenly, looking up at him in surprise.

It's always so oddly gentle, the slim fingers – _pitcher's fingers_ – cradled tenderly within his palm; he slowly raises Sawamura's hand to his mouth, brushing his thumb mildly over the back of the slender knuckles, and places a soft, near-humble kiss on each fingertip: one by one.

'For luck, then,' he murmurs quietly with a grin, his breath hot against the roughened skin. 'So your hand can throw directly to mine.'

Sawamura stares at him soundlessly, mystified. He's breathless and wide-eyed, a myriad of emotions flitting across his features; but at the same time, the entirety of this conversation is essentially so lame that the corners of his eyes end up crinkling in amusement. Then he smiles, and it's that warm, simple smile, full of sunshine, and it lights up every corner of Kazuya's heart.

'Gross,' an unimpressed voice rumbles near them. Kazuya glances over, letting go of the hand in his; Kuramochi, Kominato and Norifumi still have their backs to the two of them, but their heads are turned, side-eyeing them with varying degrees of embarrassment. Kominato's smiling delicately with a completely red face and Nori's head is lowered in modest awkwardness, whilst Kuramochi has his eyebrows raised matter-of-factly, staring pointedly at Kazuya and Sawamura as if he's seriously questioning both their tastes.

Kazuya rolls his eyes good-humoredly and leans over to give the somewhat flustered Sawamura a very light peck on the side of his mouth, purely to spite Kuramochi; he then bends down to pick up his catcher's helmet from the ground, and proceeds to slide it on.

'Well then,' he says merrily, giving Sawamura's back a single pat; an announcement booms over the loudspeakers – his timing is impeccable. 'Looks like we're starting soon. I'll be counting on you, partner.'

The word feels even more electrifying on the tip of his tongue now than it usually does – _absolute equals, perfect matches, partners until the end_: it's as intense and raw and thrilling as the baseball they play. Sawamura gazes at him with deep gold eyes gleaming hot and heartfelt, and his mouth turns upwards at the corners; his grin is as ardently brilliant as the sun, but he's looking at Kazuya as if he's seeing the sun, too.

'You got it.'

It's beyond perfect, everything, all of it. And Kazuya knows, then and there, that everything is going to be just fine.

Monthly _Baseball Kingdom_ publishes a full-page article on Seidō's victory a week later, commending the exceptional teamwork from the battery of Sawamura Eijun and Miyuki Kazuya: the pitcher and catcher that had fearlessly taken to the field, and _shone_.


End file.
